Part 37 (1/2)
Theodore was at his post in the private office deep in business when his next hasty summons came. Pliny was raving and repeating his name incessantly, and Dr. Arnold had said that he must come immediately or the consequences would be fatal.
”I shall remain all night if I am permitted to do so,” Theodore explained to Mr. Stephens while he was putting bills and notes under lock and key. ”And in the morning--”
”In the morning get rest if you can,” interrupted Mr. Stephens. ”At all events, do not worry about the store. Remain with the poor boy just as much as you can while he lives. I will see that all goes right here.
McPherson is coming in to help me; he has his new clerk under splendid training.”
Theodore looked the thanks that his heart was too heavy to speak. Mr.
Hastings glanced up grimly as he entered Pliny's room, twenty minutes afterward, but did not choose to speak. n.o.body noticed the omission--for eyes and thoughts were too entirely engrossed with the sufferer. And then commenced a hand-to-hand encounter with death. Day by day he relentlessly pursued his victim, and yet was mercifully kept at bay. The fever burned fiercely, and the faithful, watchful doctors worked constantly and eagerly. Theodore was constantly with his friend. When the delirium ran high this was absolutely necessary, for while Pliny did not seem to recognize him, yet he was calmer in his presence. Mr.
Hastings had ceased to demur or grumble--indeed, sharp and persistent anxiety and fear had taken the place of all other feelings. Pliny had disappointed him, had angered him, had disgraced him at times, yet he reigned an idol in his father's heart.
During all these anxious days and nights Dr. Arnold's face had been grave and impa.s.sive, and his voice had failed to utter a single encouraging word. But one night he said, peremptorily:
”There are too many people, and there is too much moving around in this room every night. I want every single one of you to go to bed and to sleep, except this young man. You can stay, can you not?” This with a glance toward Theodore, who bowed in answer. ”Well, then, you are the only watcher he needs, and the sooner the rest of you retire the better it will be for the patient.”
Mr. Hastings rebelled utterly.
”There was no occasion for depending upon strangers,” he said, haughtily. ”Any or all of the family were ready to sit up; and besides, there were scores of intimate friends who had offered their aid.”
And the doctor, quite as accustomed to having his own way as Mr.
Hastings could possibly be, answered, testily:
”But the family and the 'scores of intimate friends' are just the beings that I don't want to-night, and this 'stranger' has proved himself a very faithful and efficient nurse during the last few weeks, and _he_ is the one _I'm_ going to leave in charge.”
He carried his point, of course. Dr. Arnold always did. When the door was closed on the last departure he came with very quiet tread to Theodore's side, and spoke in subdued tones.
”This night is a matter of life and death with us; he needs the most close and careful watching; above all, he needs absolute quiet and the absence of all nervousness. There will be a change before morning--a very startling one perhaps. It is for this reason I have banished the family. I trust _you_, you see.”
”I don't trust myself,” answered Theodore, huskily, yet making a great effort to control his voice.
”It is more to the point that _I do_ just at present; the next eight hours will be likely to determine whether it has all been in vain. I will give you very careful directions, and I will be in twice during the night, although I am absolutely powerless now; can do no more than you will be able to do yourself. Meantime that friend of yours, McPherson I think his name is, will be on guard in the room next to this, ready to answer your lightest call. Indeed, you may open the door between the two rooms, but on no account speak or move unless absolutely necessary. This heavy sleep will grow lighter _perhaps_. Now, I want your fixed attention.” Then followed very close and careful directions--what to do, and, above all, what _not_ to do.
”Doctor, tell me one word more,” said Theodore, quivering with suppressed emotion. ”How do _you_ think it will end?”
”I have hardly the faintest atom of hope,” answered this honest, earnest man. ”If, as I said, after midnight this sleep grows heavier, and you fail to catch the regular breathing, you may call the family. I think no human sound will disturb him after that; but if, on the contrary, the breathing grows steadier, and occasionally he moves a little, then I want you fairly to hold your breath, and then we may begin to hope, provided nothing shall occur to startle him; but I will be in by twelve or a little after.”
The doctor went away with lightest tread, and Theodore opened the door of communication with the next room, met the kind, sympathetic eyes of Jim resting on him, returned his grave, silent bow, and felt sustained by his presence, then went back to his silent, solemn work. Close by the bedside, and thus, his head resting on one hand, his eyes fixed on the sleepless face, his heart going up to G.o.d in such wordless agony of entreaty as he had never felt before, pa.s.sed the long, long hours. ”The eyes of the Lord are in every place.” How this watcher blessed G.o.d for that promise now! His, then, were not the only watcher's eyes bent on that white face; but He who knew the end from the beginning--aye, who held both beginning and end in the hollow of his hand, was watching too.
More than that, the loving Redeemer, who had shed his blood for this poor man's soul, who loved it to-night with a love pa.s.sing all human knowledge, was the other watcher. So Theodore waited and prayed, and the burden of his prayer was, ”Lord, save him.” Ten, eleven, twelve o'clock, still that solemn silence, still that wordless prayer. No doctor yet ”I would not leave you if it were not absolute necessity,” he had said. ”Life or death in another family, with more for human knowledge to do than there is here, takes me away; but I will be back as soon after twelve as possible.” Would he _never_ come? It was ten minutes after twelve now, still no change--or, was there? Could he catch the breathing as distinctly now? Was the sleep heavier? Ought he to call the family? Oh, compa.s.sionate Savior! must they give him up? Had not his been the prayer of faith? And yet the breathing was certainly distinct, the pulse was steady--a half hour more, one or two little sighs had escaped the sleeper; other than that death-like stillness reigned. _Was_ he better or worse? Oh for the doctor's coming! Suddenly Pliny gave a quick restless movement, then lay quiet; and then for the first time in long, long days, spoke in natural yet astonished tones:
”Theodore!” Then with a sudden nervous tremor and a startled tone: ”What is it? What is it?”
Theodore knew that great beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, but his voice sounded natural and controlled as he stood with cup and spoon beside the bed.
”Hush, Pliny, you have had the headache, it is night. Swallow that and go to sleep.”
Like a weary, submissive child Pliny obeyed; and Theodore, trembling in every limb so that he dropped rather than sat down in his chair, again watched and waited. A shadow fell between him and the light and his raised eyes met the doctor's. He had come in through the room where Jim was waiting. He came with noiseless tread to the bedside, and the instant his practiced eyes fell on the sleeping face they lighted up with a quick, glad look. Moving silently back to the door again he signaled Theodore to come to him, while as silently Jim slipped by and took his place. Rapidly the story of the night was rehea.r.s.ed.
”Well,” said the doctor, with smiling eyes, ”I believe we have now to 'thank G.o.d and take courage.' Can you follow the rest of my instructions as implicitly as you have these? I would remove this strain on your nerves if I dared, but it is a fearfully important night, and you see I can trust you.”
”I can do it,” said Theodore, with a curious ring of joy in his softly voice. ”I can do _anything now_.”